


A Splash of Sexual Tension

by Devereauxs_Disease



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Shameless Smut, That's it, Will accidentally gets Hannibal wet, and shower sex, he likes wet cannibooty is what I'm saying, lots of wet Hannibal, then he not so accidentally does it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 16:54:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15077576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devereauxs_Disease/pseuds/Devereauxs_Disease
Summary: Will and Hannibal are circling around each other, not quite a couple yet. One day, Will accidentally splashes water on Hannibal. Who knew one little mistake would expose Will's biggest kink?





	A Splash of Sexual Tension

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the discord chat, who suggested to me that we needed more wet Mads Mikkelsen in the world - they're not wrong...
> 
> Also, I've been a total jerk about comments lately, which is dumb because I cherish them. I promise I read and love them all - but until my work schedule settles, I'm going to be late getting back to you all, I'm sorry, I'm a bad author.
> 
> All my love to Gwilbers for giving this a read.
> 
> And happy birthday to Disraeli and Mwuahna - this isn't either of your birthday fics, but those will be late so read some porn while you wait I guess? Sorry, y'all.

          It was all the fucking platter’s fault, really. Will had seen the thing in a window of an antiques shop in Atrani and stopped dead. He hadn’t even bothered to haggle for the damn thing, knowing that Hannibal’s reaction to the china would be worth any price. The platter featured a depiction of Umbria and Dis luring souls into the underworld. Hannibal had mentioned the duo before in a not-so-subtle metaphor for their time in Italy. Will studied the plate, fingers tracing along the blue design. Idly, he wondered if Hannibal would cast Will as Umbria or Dis in his mind palace, but found it didn’t really matter. Both belonged harvesting souls, together, for eternity.

          He rather liked the thought.

          When he had offered the platter to Hannibal, his face pink and eyes fixed on his shoes, the cannibal had inhaled sharply.

          “Such a beautiful gift deserves a feast worthy of its splendor.” Will’s face grew hotter from the praise, he jumped slightly when he felt soft fingers running along his cheek. “Thank you, Will.”

          “I-It’s _uh_ just saw it in an old junk shop,” Will muttered, willing himself to remain still under Hannibal’s gaze.

          “Many treasures go unseen for too long.” Hannibal’s finger traced along Will’s scruffy cheek one more time. “How fortunate that someone who could sense its potential rescued it.”

          At that, Will grinned. “Just go make fucking dinner already.”

          Hannibal’s eyes glowed deep amber, his mouth ticking into one of his half-smiles. He left the room without another word, Will happy to trail after him and watch the doctor’s sure hands chop meat and sauté vegetables. Hannibal never commented on Will’s ritual of observing meal prep, he seemed content to preen under the empath’s gaze as he conjured art from food.

          Dinner was a lavish affair that night, Hannibal had plated the ossobuco on the new platter, with an elaborate garland of edible flowers woven around the edges. Will watched as Hannibal’s fingers found the platter while they talked, idly tracing the edges. His chest felt warm as the doctor toyed with his gift. Will considered capturing those fingers in his own, perhaps pressing a kiss to the knuckles.

          He and Hannibal had not crossed the final boundary in their relationship, but Will could feel it fast approaching. And while he always thought he’d view a physical relationship with Hannibal “The Cannibal” Lecter as something terrifying, the empath found that the closer they circled toward greater intimacy, the more he longed for it.

          “You don’t agree?”

          Will flexed his fingers, his cheeks heating when he realized he’d been so focused on Hannibal’s fingers dancing along the platter, he’d totally missed whatever his cannibal had been speaking about.

          “I- _uh-_ ” _I love you. I see you. I want to tear you to pieces with my teeth so I can put you back together again._

          “Will?”

          Will waved his hand dismissively. “We should get this mess cleaned up.”

          Hannibal frowned. It was a subtle downturn at the corners of his mouth, but Will had learned to read every twitch of Hannibal’s face long ago. He was disappointed. He felt dismissed.

          Will offered him a nervous smile before grabbing the wine glasses. “I wash, you dry?”

          Hannibal dipped his head, an assent. “I believe that is the tradition.”

          Two months into living together, Will was able to hobble to the kitchen. And while Hannibal had tried to restrict his mobility, Will had insisted on being useful. A compromise was reached when Hannibal dragged a bar stool over to the kitchen sink, allowing Will to sit and wash the dishes as Hannibal carefully dried.

          Now, Will was fully healed, but the bar stool remained. Hannibal always brought it to the sink and Will always smiled at the little gesture. It was part of their washing ritual, and Will still looked forward to odd bit of chivalry every time it was offered.

          In truth, Will adored every part of their washing tradition. How their hands would brush when he handed Hannibal a plate. Wet flesh dragging against dry, a push and pull between them even at their most peaceful moments. As Will dipped the platter under the spray of the kitchen faucet, he wondered if Hannibal cherished these odd little moments in their life too, or if he had found a different set of trivial intimacies to store in his memory palace.

          The empath’s fingers lingered over the platter, taking care to work the soap over the delicate designs and beveled edges. He could feel Hannibal’s gaze on him as he worked, eyes studying every move of his hands.

          “I think this is good,” Will turned to hand Hannibal the platter, but tilted the china into the faucet’s spray. The resulting splash sent water all over the kitchen. Will’s first instinct was to shield himself from the deluge, but he was afraid he’d drop the platter. Instead, he closed his eyes and tried to jerk the plate back from the spray.

          He opened his eyes when he felt Hannibal’s hand cover his, lifting the platter from his fingers.

          “Perhaps, in the future, you should dry,” said the doctor wryly, as he flipped his soaked bangs from his face.

          Will froze.

          Hannibal’s grey shirt had taken the brunt of the water, it clung to his chest. The soaked material looked like polished marble in the bright kitchen lights, showing off Hannibal’s strong chest and soft stomach. With every breath, the material shifted and water spilled down. Hannibal looked like a statue brought to life.

          “Will? Will, why are you making that face? Did you swallow the dish water?”

          Will’s eyes snapped to Hannibal’s throat where droplets of water were snaking down the tendons to join the wet material of Hannibal’s shirt. He couldn’t breathe. How could anyone breathe with such a thing in front of them?

          He had wanted to take this… _thing_ , whatever it was between them, to the next level, but this wasn’t the way. Will’s whole body seemed to break out into gooseflesh, which was apparently his reaction to having all the blood in his system pumped directly to his cock. Will could hardly say _I think I like you_ with a hardon and expect Hannibal to understand that they would need to take this slow. And they did need to enter this final part of their relationship with care. Will wanted to talk about power dynamics and mutual respect and a moratorium on stabbing as a way to end an argument.

          Unfortunately, at this moment he also wanted to hump Hannibal’s leg.

          This was the worst possible reaction to have at the worst possible moment.  

          “Will?” Hannibal reached for him, but the empath reeled backwards off the chair and scrambled for the kitchen door.

          “I did. I’m going to go shower. You’re good with the rest of this, right?”

          He didn’t wait for an answer.

          Will raced to his bedroom, kicking out of his shoes as he stumbled toward his ensuite. He tore out of his wet clothes and entered the walk-in shower in a daze. He was so hard he hurt. He had never had a reaction like that to anyone. What in the hell had Hannibal Lecter done to his brain now?

          Will slapped the shower on and closed his eyes. He could still see that powerful chest heaving under the liquid grey covering. Gripping his dick, Will let his head fall to the tiles. He just needed to take the edge off. One good orgasm and he could talk to Hannibal like an adult about his feelings…tomorrow.

          “It’s just a fluke,” he muttered as he began to stroke. “Just a weird fluke.”

* * *

 

          It wasn’t a fluke.

          A week later, and Will still couldn’t shake the image of that wet grey shirt clinging to Hannibal’s chest. Would the fabric have been cool to the touch? Or would it be warmed by Hannibal’s natural body heat? The image haunted him. Every time he blinked, that soaked cloth would fill his mind’s eye. He’d start to harden, then he’d have to run to his room like a teenager and jerk off while cursing Hannibal Lecter, his own predilections, and water in general.

          So, Will decided to do the mature thing: Hide.

          He would find any and every excuse to work outside. He spent long hours pretending to weed the garden, re-tiling the patio, constructing a dog house, and finally painting the fence an obnoxious yellow just so Hannibal would insist he repaint it.

          It was fine.

          He could live like this.

          Will was watering the garden for the ninth time since 7am, languidly wondering if he could sleep in the dog house when it happened.

          “Will! You’re overwatering my parsni-” The rest of Hannibal’s sentence was drowned out. “Will! WILL STOP!”

          Will blinked, realizing about 10 seconds too late that he had turned to look at Hannibal while still holding the hose. He dropped it, but the damage was done.

          Hannibal glared murderously at Will, hair falling in drenched tendrils over his eyes. Rivulets of water raced down his high cheekbones dripping onto a soaked blue shirt. Will swallowed hard. The shirt was clinging to Hannibal’s chest, revealing a patch of thick chest hair and two pert nipples responding to the chill of the water. The fine fabric clung to Hannibal’s slightly protruding stomach and Will found his hands shaking as he thought about the warm flesh beneath it.

          Will knew the face Hannibal was making, the face that came with the quiet voice and usually a fair amount of stabbing. He should be afraid. He should be planning an escape route. But Will’s stupid body decided that now was the time to announce that it found Hannibal Lecter’s murder face incredibly sexy when it had been thoroughly sprayed with water.

          “You deliberately-”

          “Nope, total mistake, sorry. I have to, uh, go. Finish watering the garden for me?” Will dashed past Hannibal as quickly as he could with a raging hardon in his shorts.

* * *

 

          This had to stop.

          Will knew, realistically, that he had to stop accidentally spraying Hannibal with water. He also knew, realistically, that the water incidents weren’t really accidents anymore. The hose was a fluke, as was the platter, but pretending to trip and shoving Hannibal into the sprinkler was thin.

          Flipping a pitcher of sangria at lunch into Hannibal’s lap had been, if Will was being honest, entirely deliberate. He kept thinking about the red of the wine, and how it might look like blood should it slick Hannibal’s shirt. Before he even fully processed the idea, he was pushing the pitcher toward Hannibal, who frowned as he watched it tsunami over his shirt.

          Will was right – it looked like blood. Glorious blood raining upon Hannibal’s strong chest and making Will gasp as he felt the blood flow from his head to his crotch.

          “Will. Have I done something?”

          Will blinked slowly, pupils dilating and breathing deep. “Hmmm?”

          “You have gone out of your way to assault me in the past few-” Hannibal’s mouth was beautiful. Will couldn’t help but notice a droplet of sangria nestled in his cupid’s bow. He wanted to lick it off. He wanted to lick Hannibal clean. He wanted…to get out of here without coming in his goddamn pants.

          “Will? WILL! Are you ignor-”

          “Sorry about the shirt and lunch and uh…all of it? Total accident. I should go though I have a thing…” Will tossed his napkin at Hannibal’s face hoping the cannibal would be too distracted to see his badly tented pants as he fled the house.

          Will drove to a dead-end road in a secluded street and closed his eyes. Visions of Hannibal drenched in red water filled his mind. As Will came, gripping his bare cock in the front seat of his car in the middle of the Atrani suburbs, he realized this may have gone too far.

          He needed to talk to Hannibal.

          Really, he needed to fuck Hannibal, but talking was probably a good step. Grabbing a fast food napkin from the floor, Will began to clean himself up. He could do this. He could ask Hannibal out on a date. He could even do it without intentionally dousing the man in liquids…probably.

* * *

 

          Will listened to Hannibal’s espresso machine rattle and hoped he hadn’t knocked something loose. He’d banged on it a few times when it didn’t immediately start to brew, and he was just now wondering if that was a good idea.

          He frowned. He had a whole plan which involved one of Hannibal’s fancy espressos and a dab of the local honey the doctor liked to rave over. He was going to offer the beverage to Hannibal along with grillades and grits – the only dish his father had taught him how to make. He knew Hannibal would be charmed by the story of young Will burning the meat and the gravy so badly his father had to throw out the pan, even if the meal was a little simple for the doctor’s fine tastes.

          Hannibal would listen intently as Will described perfecting the dish, learning that veal was the best meat to mix into the gravy, as it was harder to overcook. Will would share that it was always the meal he made for overnight guests. _So, you’re the seventh person who’s had it_ he’d say. And Hannibal would twist his mouth into a smile that made his eyes crinkle. If all went well, he’d ask Hannibal out on a proper date, maybe even get a coffee flavored kiss for his trouble.

          Will sighed when he heard the espresso machine make an ungodly grinding noise. When did anything ever go well for him?

          “I thought we’d agreed that you should stay away from my Cecilware?”

          Will jumped.

          “You’re up early! I was going to make us br-” The words abandoned Will’s mouth as he turned. Hannibal stood in the doorway, hair wet and dripping onto a white linen shirt. Droplets fell from the strands, making little translucent pools on the fabric, sticking it to Hannibal’s chest and offering Will just the tiniest peek of what lay beneath it.

          Will’s mouth was dry, he wanted to lick the water from Hannibal’s neck to wet his tongue.

          “Yes,” Hannibal flipped his hair out of his eyes, a few droplets landing on Will’s hand. The doctor’s mouth formed an amused little curl at the end. “I could hear you making breakfast, which is why I ran from the shower.”

          Will stared at the water on his hand. He closed his eyes and was overwhelmed by the image of Hannibal beneath him, arching his back under Will’s thrusts, sending droplets into the air.

          “Will?” The sensation of Hannibal’s damp fingers on his face snapped the empath from the image. “Your breathing is labored. Are you-”

          “You’ve got breakfast, right?” Will was practically running from the room, trying to keep his hardon inconspicuous as he moved. “Think I’ll grab a shower.”

          “Will, I think we should…WILL!”

          The empath took the stairs two at a time, the friction from his harried movements sending spikes of pleasure through his body as he desperately fled the warm wet skin that called to him.

          This was bad.

          Will hadn’t spent so much time trying to hide inappropriate erections since he was a kid. Not that Hannibal would likely reject him, but still…Will was an old-fashioned guy. He still believed in dinner, conversations, and asking out your intended without a raging hardon.

          How was he supposed to ask out Hannibal Lecter if his dick wouldn’t even allow him to talk to the doctor anymore?

          Will stripped out of his clothes, leaving a haphazard trail to his ensuite. He just needed to come. One really good orgasm and he’d be able to go down stairs and charm the pants off of Hannibal, or at least stumble through the whole date question.

          Turning on the shower, Will waited for the water grow hot, filling his lungs with steam before stepping under the spray. Will let his head fall to the cool tile, hot water battering at his shoulders and neck. After a few breaths, cocooned in the wet heat of the shower, his hand began to roam.

          Will thought of Hannibal’s mouth, wet lips that could curve easily from snarls to smiles, mercurial as the man who controlled them. The empath’s fingers coiled around his cock, pulling harshly as he imagined that mouth on him, biting and sucking – consuming.

          With a wet gasp, Will tightened his grip. He thought about wet chest hair, nipples peaking under cooling fabric. One final, transparent barrier between Will and what he wanted, begging to be torn away. He was so lost to the images in his mind, he didn’t notice the burst of cold air against his back.

          “I was talking to you.” Hannibal’s voice pierced the fantasy.

          Will shrieked, his hand jerking too hard and pain shooting into his middle as he threw himself backward. He opened his eyes to see Hannibal standing under the shower, his shirt and pants deluged with the hot spray. Great patches of white linen were turning translucent as they clung to Hannibal’s body, the doctor tipped his head to the side and water sluiced down his neck and into the deep v of his shirt. Grey chest hair sparkled from the gap in the linen, drops of water gleaming like diamonds as it tangled in Hannibal’s thatch of hair before flowing down his chest. Will opened his mouth, but no words came.

          “It’s rude to walk away from someone when they’re talking to you, Will.”

          Will watched the water flow over Hannibal’s shirt, the fabric clear and clinging to the doctor’s powerful pecs and belly. Lowering his eyes, Will could see Hannibal’s white linen pants turning clear as well. Liquid windows showcased strong thighs flexing under the torrent.

          Will’s skin felt too tight, the heat from the shower suffocating instead of soothing. He tried to tell himself to flee, to yell at Hannibal and demand he be left in peace. But he stood rooted against the wall, captivated by the waterlogged cannibal before him. Will’s cock twitched, his mortification at being caught forgotten as he took in the sight.

          “W-what are you doing?” Will was breathless, eyes tracking the rivers of water as they flowed over every soaked fold against Hannibal’s skin.

          The doctor tipped his head back, allowing the water to wash his bangs back. In one step, he cornered Will against the cold tiles of the shower. Will watched the steady stream of water drip from Hannibal’s chin.

          “I’m saving the rest of my wardrobe.” Hannibal dipped his head, pressing wet lips to Will’s panting mouth.

          Will’s brain began listing all the things wrong with the scenario. It wasn’t what Will had planned. They hadn’t talked about what this step would mean. Hannibal had clearly noticed Will’s attraction to his wet shirts and was exploiting the weakness to his advantage. If the relationship was going to become sexual, it should be entered into as equals, not because Hannibal fucking Lecter decided to compete in a one-man wet t-shirt contest.

          Will patiently listened to his brain’s reasons. They were sound arguments, and he agreed with them. That didn’t stop Will from tangling his hands in the wet folds of Hannibal’s shirt and drawing the cannibal closer to him as he returned the kiss.

          The air was growing thick as Will licked the river from Hannibal’s upper lip, his hands squeezing water from the soaked fabric in his grasp. Hannibal captured Will’s tongue with his teeth, biting lightly before sucking the muscle fully into his mouth. Will groaned, rolling his hips against the waterlogged fabric on Hannibal’s thigh.

          When Hannibal broke the kiss to bite along Will’s jaw and throat, the empath tightened his grip on Hannibal’s shirt, desperate to keep him as close as possible.

          The sound of ripping fabric finally seemed to break the trance. Will released Hannibal, opening his mouth to apologize for the popped button and torn seam.

          Hannibal caught Will’s hands, bringing them back to the wet heat of his chest and encouraging Will to grab onto the shirt again.

          “Anything,” Hannibal murmured, water catching on his brow bone and dripping from his chin. Will felt a twitch in Hannibal’s sure hands, a tiny hint of the fear coursing through the seemingly indominable man before him. “Anything you want – drown me, rend everything I own, tear me to pieces. I’ll pay any price you deem  fit to feel what’s behind that look you’ve given me for the past three weeks.”

          It was at once a manipulation and the most honest thing Hannibal had ever said to him. And Will understood, in that moment, hot water raining upon them, that there was no planning for this. Like everything else with them, it was a leap off a cliff into unknown waters. And though the fall was always scary as hell, they always managed to surface in each other’s arms.

          Will dug his fingers into the sodden shirt tearing at the buttons until Hannibal’s soaked chest lay unveiled between wet strips of linen. He pushed at Hannibal, moving him back directly under the spray.

          “I was hoping the drowning suggestion was merely hyperbole,” Hannibal said, but a tremor in his voice belied the tension in him. Will pressed his lips to Hannibal’s cheek, water flowing around the area where they were joined. He bit at that impossible cheekbone, his teeth learning the wet jut of bone and flesh as Hannibal shuddered into his mouth.

          “Stay there. Don’t drown,” Will whispered into the mark he left, Hannibal’s quick intake of breath the only sign his cannibal had heard Will’s instructions.

          The empath dropped to his knees. The water from the shower sluiced down Hannibal’s pecs and stomach, wild rapids flowing over the topography of the doctor. He was a waterfall – beautiful and overwhelming. Will rested his head against Hannibal’s hip for a moment, his eyes slipping closed. He was finally slipping into the stream, but this didn’t feel like death, it felt like resurrection.

          When he opened his eyes, Will could see Hannibal’s cock jutting out along the wet folds of his linen pants. The very tip of his cock pulled at the wet fabric, fighting the weight of the water. Will brushed his cheek against it, feeling the warm skin under the slick linen. Hannibal’s hands landed in Will’s hair, tentative fingers moving through wet curls. Will pushed into Hannibal’s cock, running his nose along the length before mouthing at the tip.

          He sucked, earning a grunt from Hannibal and strong fingers grasping at his hair. Will grinned, fixing his mouth to the cloth and sucking again. Water, linen and something slightly bitter coated his tongue. He lapped at the spot again, nails raking through the wet material glued to Hannibal’s thighs, and watched as the doctor’s stomach flexed at the attention. He tongued hard at the tip of Hannibal’s cock, watching with fascination as it twitched, trying to break the confines of the thin fabric to get closer to Will’s mouth.

          Hannibal had turned his face up into the spray, the water coursing around the plains of his body in new patterns. He looked like Poseidon, altering the courses of the tides by the mere suggestion of his body. An all powerful being, completely at the mercy of the supplicant kneeled before him.

          Will stood, grabbing at the tattered shirt and turning Hannibal roughly to face the wall.

          “Put your hands on the tiles.”

          Hannibal planted his hands on either side of the temperature gauge. Will could hear Hannibal’s breathing going ragged, echoing in the shower. He yanked at Hannibal’s shirt, gathering the back into his left hand and pulling it taut. Hannibal arched his back, water flowing down his spine and diverting around the Verger brand.

          “You’re goddamn magnificent,” Will whispered, leaning forward and sucking water from the brand. He released Hannibal long enough to grapple with the button and fly on his pants, carefully working the soaked cloth over Hannibal’s prone ass.

          “Pocket.” The word was barely a breath, Hannibal sounded winded as he gasped beneath the spray.

          Will fished into both pockets, huffing a soft laugh when he recovered a small bottle of lube from Hannibal’s left.

          “Silicon,” Hannibal said as Will studied the bottle. “Harder to wash away in water.”

          “Perfect,” Will praised, running his fingers upstream along Hannibal’s back. Slicking his right hand, Will began to rub between Hannibal’s cheeks, slowly circling his hole in fluid motions. “You’re so perfect. Do you know how long I’ve wanted you?”

          “Since you splashed me.”

          Will pressed slightly at Hannibal’s ass, the tip on his finger dipping into Hannibal before continuing its journey. “Figured that out, did you?”

          “I wasn’t sure,” Hannibal’s breath caught when Will breached him again, thrusting gently with his index finger. “I suspected you either found wet clothing arousing or were developing a fetish for ruining my good shirts.”

          Will dribbled more lube onto his hand, adding a second finger. This morning in the kitchen had been a test. Hannibal trying to determine what precisely got the best reaction out of Will. The empath rewarded his clever cannibal by biting into the fabric on his shoulder, sucking skin and water through his teeth. Hannibal arched into the sensation, water flowing over the brand and down his spine. Will crooked his fingers, pads gently searching until they brushed over a small protrusion. The doctor’s whole body bowed, his ass clamping tightly over Will’s hand.

          “What if I like both?” Will teased, his fingers circling Hannibal’s prostate with a maddeningly light touch. Hannibal’s head fell forward onto the tiles, forehead grinding into the cool porcelain as Will worked him. “Hmm? No answer?”

          Hannibal choked, droplets sputtering from his lips as his moan echoed around them. Will watched as water and precome dripped from Hannibal’s cock, the doctor also lost to the tides. “I-I would buy a new shirt every day just for the pleasure of having you rip it from me.”

          Will let his head fall to Hannibal’s shoulder blades. The idea of ripping Hannibal’s clothes off him every night, leaving shreds of fine cloth for Hannibal to sweep up every morning made Will shiver. The power he was being offered licking up his spine like a surge of electricity.

          He added a third finger. Hannibal’s hand flexed along the tiles, but he didn’t move.

          “What if I want just that, Hannibal?” Will stilled his hand and watched as Hannibal fucked himself on the empath’s fingers. Water splashed off his back as he moved, desperate noises leaking out of his throat as Will withdrew his hand. “What if I wanted to keep you wet and naked? What if I tore into every pricy outfit you ever wore?”

          “I would be content in the tatters,” Hannibal’s rasped.

          Will slicked his cock, gathering Hannibal’s wet shirt in one hand as he guided himself to Hannibal’s entrance.

          “I don’t want you content,” Will gasped, pushing into Hannibal slowly. The doctor moaned, his head thumping against the tiles as he pressed back against Will. “I want you rapturous.”

          Even in the steamy shower, the heat of Hannibal was incredible. Will rubbed his face against the soaked collar of Hannibal’s shirt, biting it to keep himself still for a moment. After a few wet breaths, Hannibal began to shift his hips, rolling back and forth on Will’s cock, a lilting whine escaping his throat.

          Will unclasped his jaw, looking up into the spray of the shower as he drew back and thrust home hard. Another sound erupted from Hannibal, more guttural and snarling. Will saw the doctor’s fingers flex, seeking purchase on the tiles. The empath tugged on his handful of wet linen, bringing Hannibal’s shoulders back and arching the doctor’s spine. Hannibal moaned, head falling back, wet hair dripping onto Will’s face as he thrust.

          The scent of sex and heated skin bloomed in the hot air of the bathroom.  Will inhaled greedily, drawing their combined scent into him as deeply as he could. He wouldn’t last long, but Will wasn’t sure he needed to considering their states. The wet fabric in his hands felt cold suddenly, and he released it to hold Hannibal’s hips instead. Will frowned, how could he have ever thought wet fabric could compare to the skin of the beautiful monster before him.

          With shaking hands, Will began grappling with the shirt. Yanking it from Hannibal’s arms, tearing at the fabric until it lay in a sodden pile by his feet. With the shirt removed, Will plastered himself against Hannibal’s back, hips rolling as gentle fingers roamed the doctor’s front.

          Tangling a hand in Hannibal’s wet bramble of chest hair, Will tugged experimentally. The doctor clenched around him, groaning as he arched into the pull.

          “Fan of that?” Will rubbed his nose along Hannibal’s spine licking at the water that flowed past his mouth. He listened to the obscene sounds of wet skin slapping together and ran his teeth along Hannibal’s shoulders. Will wanted to bite. He wanted to come and melt liquid to the floor with Hannibal.

          Hannibal made another keening noise, pushing back against Will’s thrusts. The empath stroked lower, fingers kneading at the soft flesh of Hannibal’s belly before wrapping around the doctor’s cock. He squeezed before offering a stroke. Hannibal’s whole body broke into fine tremors. Will looked at his cannibal’s face to see it furrowed in concentration. Will bit at Hannibal’s shoulder just to watch the expression break and feel Hannibal’s body jerk closer to release.

          “I want you to come, Hannibal,” Will whispered against the join in the doctor’s throat. “Let me take care of you.”

          Hannibal’s body lurched in Will’s hands, his muscles seemingly at war over which direction to pull him in. Will grunted, his own body screamed for release. Will stroked Hannibal once more, thumbing at the weeping head of his cock to test his sensitivity. Hannibal’s lip curled into a snarl and Will pulled him to lick the water flowing over Hannibal’s coiled upper lip. Hannibal gasped, his chest shuddering as he came over Will’s fingers.

          Will shoved his hips forward, pushing as deep into the delicious clamp of Hannibal’s body as he could. He closed his eyes, letting Hannibal drag him over the precipice. When he came, it was with garbled declarations of love muttered into wet skin.

          Wrapping his hand around Hannibal’s slumping frame, Will held them both upright on weakened knees. The water flowed over them, the temperature beginning to cool. Will made a note he’d have to research new hot water heaters if this was going to be a part of their routine.

          Turning off the water, Will let himself slip from Hannibal. The doctor made a faint whining noise. Will kissed his shoulder.

          “Stay here.” Will walked on unsteady legs out of the shower. He flicked on the heat lamp and grabbed two fluffy towels. When Hannibal moved to take a towel, Will shook his head, instead laying the folded cloth on the floor and pulling Hannibal to sit upon it. Will settled behind Hannibal on the floor, unwilling to leave their warm den that smelled of sex and wet heat.

          Will wrapped the remaining towel around Hannibal’s shoulders and began to work the fine material in slow circles, pressing soft kisses to each patch of skin he dried. Hannibal relaxed into the touches, leaning into Will’s embrace and stretching against the towel like a contented cat.

          “You were wrong by the way.” Will said, moving the towel to Hannibal’s chest. Hannibal allowed his head to fall back on Will’s shoulder, dark eyes flicking over Will’s smile.

          “Unlikely, but please, tell me why you think that.”

          Will laughed, shoving at Hannibal. The doctor leaned forward allowing Will to dry his back. Will couldn’t stop kissing the warm skin before him.

          “I’ve wanted you far longer than a few weeks, Hannibal.” Will pressed his forehead into Hannibal’s hair, his tongue catching the water that cascaded down the nape of Hannibal’s neck. “The water was just a bonus.”

          Hannibal turned, studying Will over his shoulder. “A bonus?”

          “Well,” Will resumed his drying duties rubbing along Hannibal’s sides and over his stomach. “It was hard enough to resist you fully clothed. Wet? I didn’t stand a chance.”

          Hannibal allowed himself to be pulled backward across Will’s chest, laying himself bare for Will to stroke. “If only I had accepted Frederick’s Ice Bucket Challenge, think of all the pain we could have avoided.”  

          Will grinned yanking the towel over Hannibal’s head to ruffle his hair. “You think I can’t fill a bucket with ice, Dr. Lecter?”

          When Will pulled the towel back, Hannibal was smiling.

 

 


End file.
